Tag Archives: Spiders

Arachnids inspire a terror in me that is unparalleled by anything other than my fear of sharks (well, if this isn’t completely unsettling, I don’t know what is) and dark places I need to traverse after my brain decides that it’s been far too long since I last contemplated the possibility of ghosts and other potentially malevolent spirits and/or demons (not to mention psycho killers and maniacs). Clearly, I’m not alone—see below:

Whenever I mention that I dislike spiders (also known as eight-legged minions of Satan), or, upon seeing one in the vicinity of my person and innocently screaming at the top of my lungs: “KILL IT! KILL IT TWICE! AND THEN KILL IT AGAIN!”, however, I’m often subjected to reproachful looks and unnecessary lectures on the importance of all God’s creatures (bullshit—if we were so fond of all God’s creatures, then why are we letting some of them go extinct every. Single. Day? Huh? Huh?).

“But Bay,” someone mentions helpfully, with a spoonful of reproach and holier-than-thou-ness, “We need spiders. They eat other harmful bugs, like the mosquitoes you detest.”

Yeah, right.

Now, it is true: I do detest mosquitoes. That is because they always bite me and I’m allergic to them and erupt into massive reactions that radiate heat, discomfort and whiny-ness. And, since I’m clearly the choice option on their unknowing buffet, I am worried that I’m going to contract some hideous disease. I mean, when I am getting bit 114 percent more than the people around me, I feel like my odds are good for getting something bad from the buzzing bastards.

Mosquitoes, as far as I can tell, serve no purpose or benefit to the planet. Certainly, they pose no benefit to me, which is all I need to know. They’re a net expense. They don’t pollenate flowers, look pretty or eat other malicious creatures. They’re like the trigonometry of the insect world. We just don’t need them. So, if spiders are so philanthropic, then they need to pick up their A-game and eat more mosquitoes. Like all of them.

Hmm, this is not technically a solution to spiders. It’s more just an expression of my weenie-ness. But still, you guys. I hate them. I’m genuinely terrified of them. My heart races, my palms sweat and I’d probably knock children down to save myself from spidery situations.

True story: One night, when we were in Avignon, we were getting ready for bed (we shared hotel rooms wherever possible to save our scrilla) and Jen and I were chatting about who knows what, perched on the edges of our bed. Suddenly, I noticed Jen’s gaze slide downwards and to the right, widening at something she saw.

This is when we discovered that when it comes to arachnids, I actually have a spidey sense. I didn’t see that it was a spider, but I knew it was. I leapt off the bed (I may have flown. It’s hard to say.), emitting a sound that Jen later recounted as inhuman, the likes of which she’d never heard before.

The boys “took care” of the spider, but since I didn’t see its carcass, I couldn’t take any chances and proceeded to mummify myself tightly in my bed sheet, willing to risk suffocation while I slept, if it meant the creepy monster couldn’t touch me.

So that’s my post. Lately, all the spiders are either trying to get inside or stringing up law-of-physics-defying trip lines directly across all the paths I need to traverse (probably the same paths that are laden with ghosts, monsters and psychopaths). I have seen some shockingly large specimens of wolf spider, the hefty hairy brutes. Here’s an example of one I recently saw:

Just kidding. That’s a werewolf. But the similarity is [literally] frightening and my reaction to either would be pretty much the same level of freak out (the werewolf might scare me less). Is it a mere coincidence that they both have “wolf” in their name? I think not.

But seriously, they’re all putting webs up EVERYWHERE. I mean it—I don’t even understand the mechanics of how they get their webs from point A to point B. If I wasn’t repulsed, I’d be fascinated and I’d read up online to learn more. But I can’t do that, because even looking at pictures of spiders raises my blood pressure and makes me all twitchy. In the mornings, I’m all Raoul in the Phantom of the Opera, going for a jog while keeping my hand at the level of my eye. And then going all ninja-pants when I run through a web.

Like this:

Hey, so I totally forgot to share with you a disclaimer with you yesterday:

In service of my not kowtowing (look, a word-of-the-day for you!) to my survival mechanisms, all of which are aimed at glossing things over with a glaze of perfection (who me? a perfectionist? Pshaw. <<this face>>), I’m setting out on a new practice of not revising posts for a while. This means that there will be some mistakes.

Believe me, this will hurt me more than it does you. Leaving mistakes in my writing makes me want to throw up. Or at least cringe. Anyway, there you have it. Feel free to let me know there are errors, so I really learn my lesson (about letting things be and being with things as they are, including myself).

Okay, moving on. Last night, I was at my sister’s place and it was really warm, so I left my windows open. This, by itself, is not so extraordinary, but I had earlier read a Facebook status by a friend who was commenting on this year’s crop of early-bird and abnormally large wolf spiders that are beginning their fall migration into the homes and imaginations of arachnophobes like myself.

I do not like spiders. I do not like them one little tiny bit. I don’t care what purpose they serve in the grander scheme of things: They are freaky and gross and disgusting and have way the hell too many legs and eyes and they creep and they crawl and they get into places and they’re gross (needs to be said twice) and I hate them. This image nicely sums up how I feel about spiders that have trespassed into any space that I may at any time inhabit:

Why this matters is because while I was driving home, I thought to myself, just for fun, “Hey, what if a spider crawled in here while the windows were open?”

So, because I’m a rational and responsible adult, I put my indicator on and pulled over so that I could inspectigate my potentially spider-ridden scenario. This is when I discovered that the interior light in my car doesn’t really light up very well below the seat and the only possible remaining solution was to drive home quickly (though safely) and abandon the car and never drive it ever again.